


Too Much Is Just Enough

by missbeizy



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Size Kink, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, oversensitivity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:56:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1449340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missbeizy/pseuds/missbeizy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alien!Blaine + human!Kurt.  Tentacle porn.</p>
<p>Warnings for: barebacking (without possibility of consequence), oversensitivity, tentacle!sex, and size kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Too Much Is Just Enough

He isn't up here to throw himself off. Really. Okay, so maybe it looks that way—but honestly, he'd have to climb over quite a lot of stuff to get to that edge, and he's already freezing, and he's not up here to throw himself off, remember?

It's New Year's Eve, he's twenty years old, his date ditched him for a dancer ten minutes into the Vogue mixer; he needs some space and air and to remind himself that he is fabulous and he doesn't need anyone in his life to remind him of that fact.

And he is sad. But not that kind of sad.

He also isn't alone, but he doesn't realize this until a terribly earnest voice shouts, "Don't do it! You have so much to live for."

He freezes, clutches his overcoat a little tighter around himself, and turns. Halfway across the rooftop is an attractive man around his own age, dark hair slicked back, hazel eyes wild with concern, and a compact body sheathed in a Topman slim suit that looks better on him than on most of the models who Kurt has seen wearing them.

"Uh," he says, "I'm not up here to jump?"

"It's okay," the man says. "You're not alone."

"No, really," he replies, backing up because this guy might be nuts and Kurt is definitely out of range to shout for help all the way up here. "I'm not going to jump."

As it turns out, there's a gap in the stuff. Kurt takes one too many steps and, before he even realizes what's happening, he trips. He's way closer to the edge of the building than he thought he was. The world goes cold and dark and he realizes that gravity is happening—

And then it isn't, because there's a strong, hard something wrapped around his leg, dragging him back over the edge. His vision is going fuzzy and his heart is slamming so hard inside of his chest that he can't hear anything over it, and the sight of the man is hazy but Kurt is fairly sure that he has more than four limbs, and—oh.

His suit is open at the back, revealing two very large, long, thick tentacles, one of which has Kurt's right ankle in its grip.

"Oh," he says, as he begins to pass out, "That was such a nice suit, too."

 

*

 

He wakes up in an apartment that had probably been very nice back in the sixties when it was decorated, and the first thing that he says when he sees the man sitting in a chair across from the bed he's lying on is, "I have pepper spray!"

The man tilts his head, glances down at what looks like a tablet on his knee, and hastily taps it. His confusion clears as the tablet's surface lights up. "Oh. Okay. That's not necessary, I assure you."

"And why not?" Kurt snaps, reaching for his suit jacket, which is beside him on the bed.

"I'm not going to hurt you," the man says. "Um. It's just—you saw me, and no one was supposed to, and now I'm not really sure what to do? I was doing so well, too."

"If you're referring to the visual hallucination that I had on the roof, let me assure you—"

"You're too smart for that," the man says. "You know exactly what you saw."

Kurt bristles, pride clashing with _this man is a crazy person_. "Look. No harm done, right? I don't even know your name. Let's just call it even." No one who looks that good in a suit would want to murder him and chop him into a thousand pieces, right?

"I have no idea how to handle this, and I'm not getting a response from my superiors, so, um. How about you give me your name and—" And the thingy on his knee beeps and beams bright blue-green and he deflates with obvious relief. "Oh, good. Hold on." From behind him slithers one of those tentacles that Kurt had absolutely imagined, and he presses the tip of one of the vaguely arrow-head shapes to the thingy. His eyes close and he sits there, twitching, for several moments.

Kurt looks around for something heavy to smash over his head, but is interrupted when his hazel eyes snap open and the blue-green light turns off.

"Well," the man chirps happily, "that's good. Since it's just one person, I've been given permission to—allow you to know, as long as I keep an eye on you. And since we're both enrolled at NYADA, I could study you, as well. This is wonderful!"

"How the hell do you know that?" Kurt asks, even though he should have probably started with, "What are you talking about?"

"There's a student ID in your wallet."

"Okay, I think I've heard enough," he answers, gathering up his suit jacket and making sure that his wallet, keys, phone, and pepper spray are all still there and intact. "You have fun with your little, um, role playing, or dungeons and dragons, or whatever it is you're obviously so into, and I'll just be on my way, okay?"

"I can't leave you alone now," the man says, sounding confused and upset. "I really wish you hadn't seen me, but, um, you did, so—"

Kurt walks over to him and jabs a finger into his chest. "Listen. I'm not interested in your little drama project, okay? I mean, don't get me wrong, that is some spectacular prosthetic and robotic work, but—"

One of the tentacles flicks out, up and behind the man, and then the other, rising behind him like writhing wings. They're olive-toned like the man's skin, spotted green-brown along their insides like flesh on the belly of a fish, with suckers going from small at the base to wide at the flared tips, which furl and unfurl like slow fingers.

Kurt stares, momentarily fascinated. They're kind of grotesquely pretty.

"I'm really awful at lying. And stealth. And avoiding humans. It's kind of a miracle they let me planet-side for research, but—I dunno, I seem to get these things handed to me, sometimes, it's weird—anyway, uh. I'm like, not from around here, if you get my meaning?"

Kurt can't stop staring at the undulating extra limbs. He feels like he's completely lost his mind.

"Please don't try to tell me that you're an alien. This week has been trying enough."

You meet a handsome guy on a rooftop on New Year's Eve, and then he has tentacles and he's an alien. If that's not proof that attempting to date in New York City is pointless, Kurt doesn't know what is.

The man squints, his face sort of wobbling sideways. "Does it count if I don't try to tell you but actually just tell you straight out that I am from another planet and am on a research mission here on yours?"

"Yes," Kurt replies, jaw tight. "It does."

"Woops, okay then!"

"Do I have permission to run away screaming now?" he asks, knees wobbling. He really is kind of past the point of tolerating this, and he's already passed out once tonight.

"I know how weird this is," the man says. "But—look. My name is Blaine." He holds out a hand. Kurt shakes it before he can think better of it.

"Kurt. But you knew that, creepy wallet rifler Blaine."

"Sorry," Blaine says, wincing. "I had to know, in case you ran before I could talk to you, so I could at least keep an eye on you, make sure you didn't tell anyone about me."

Kurt is about a thousand times done, but then—there are those tentacles, and they sure don't look like paper mâché or liquid rubber or like they have an inorganic framework.

He puts on his best Hummel glare and reaches out, drags the tip of a finger along the side of one of them. The flesh ripples in response, making the suckers clench and unclench, and Blaine twitches as if tickled. They feel like skin, only warmer, and a little sweatier.

Huh.

"That's impressive," he declares, eyebrows up.

He steps behind Blaine, to see where the tentacles are coming out of two neatly sewn flaps in the back of his suit jacket. Well—at least he hadn't destroyed that suit. He gets points for that.

Kurt touches the place where the splits are sewn, left and then right, and feels Blaine's back shudder under his hand.

"Like I said, I know this must be really weird for you, but I assure you, they are real."

"Is this the part where I make a probe joke and you ask for my number?"

Blaine giggles—actually giggles, and then bites his lip to stop himself. "Oh. No, um. I just—I have to keep an eye on you from a distance. Record information about what you eat, where you go, how you interact with other humans. It's sort of like a nature documentary, you know? I promise I'll keep my distance, and I'll never follow you home or anything."

"That's supposed to make me feel—okay with this?"

"I guess not. Uh. I'm really excited, though! I wasn't supposed to get a human following assignment for at least another year, so this is a huge step up for me."

"I am so pleased for you," Kurt says, monotone.

"Thanks!" Blaine chirps, tentacles wriggling.

"Have you had the lesson on human sarcasm yet?" Kurt asks.

"Oh," Blaine says, tapping on his little machine. "Oh, geez, I guess not."

Kurt isn't quite sure how he ever thought that this guy was going to hurt him. He feels a headache coming on.

"Anyway, if you want to stalk me at school, I guess this could have ended worse. So, uh, I'll just be on my way?"

"I really appreciate you being so good about this. I might even get to give a talk at the end!"

"That's, uh, very nice. Well. Good night, alien Blaine."

 

*

 

Kurt spends the following week convinced that New Year's Eve had been a nightmare.

And then he's getting coffee at one of the on-campus food trucks and Blaine is ahead of him in line, and he almost collapses on the sidewalk. He then convinces himself that this must be a coincidence, as well—he must have seen Blaine at the party, or in school, and now he's just grafting visual information onto his hallucinations.

Blaine is awfully good looking, and there is something earnest and unflappable about him even at a distance that Kurt would, under normal circumstances, find very appealing, and so it makes sense. Dating fail has just become so multifaceted for Kurt that he's twisting fantasies and nightmares together. He truly needs to reconsider his "no one night stands" policy.

But then he sees Blaine in classes that they previously have never shared. At bars that they've never frequented at the same time. In the library at the same time as he has chosen to study. One of Kurt's friends even pairs up with Blaine in their stage combat class.

It's too much overlap to be random, even though Blaine never talks to or looks at him. He's just suddenly, always there.

Kurt lasts the weekend, but on Sunday he decides to throw caution to the wind and goes back to Blaine's apartment. He bangs on the door before he can think about whether this is a smart thing to do or not.

Blaine answers, wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt with two slits just below the shoulder blades. His hair is frizzy and puffy, sans-product, and his feet are bare.

Kurt wants to come off all business, but that's sort of difficult to do when your first thought his, _holy crap those biceps_.

"Uh," Blaine says, eyes tossing in polite confusion. "Hi?"

When he turns sideways Kurt can't see the tentacles at all. He closes the door behind him and motions. "Let's see them."

"What?"

"Prove it. That you're an alien. Because I don't see any tentacles, buddy, and if you don't have 'em then this stalking routine has gone on long enough and for no good reason."

"I already showed—"

"I was tipsy and then I passed out. That doesn't count."

Determined, he circles Blaine, taking in his tight, attractive body from head to toe. It's rude, but he feels as if he's entitled to be a little rude, since, you know, _stalking_.

"Okay," Blaine says, sighing, and flexes his shoulders—his rather muscled, broad shoulders, Kurt observes with a keen sense of self-betrayal—and the tentacles, apparently shrunken and folded flawlessly inside of Blaine's back, rise out of slits in his flesh and then his shirt, unfurling behind him. In daylight they are strikingly pretty, obvious extensions of his body in a way that could never be mistaken for robotics or anything similar.

Kurt's heart pounds in his chest. For the first time, he thinks that it's possible Blaine might be telling him the truth.

"What can they do?" he asks, trying to maintain a distant curiosity.

"They're sort of like extra hands and arms. Just, more sensitive. More durable. Stronger. They interact with our tech—it's how we use everything where I'm from."

"And that's the only difference? I mean, you look pretty human otherwise."

"I was bred to be as close to human-looking as possible. We don't all look like this. The tentacles were left because—they're sort of a requirement for getting along on my planet. My parents are scientists. My whole family going back a hundred generations have been."

"So you're a scientist."

He smiles, and his tentacles quiver for a moment. "I guess I am."

Hm.

Kurt steps closer. "Can I...?"

Blaine's cheeks darken. "Sure."

Kurt puts the full flat of his hand against the base of one tentacle and drags it slowly along its length, all the way to the flared tip. As he does so, the tentacle curls and twists, and several of the suckers catch his skin, but never long enough to latch on and stop his movement. The very tip of the head of the tentacle twitches to meet his fingertips when they arrive.

He's not sure why, but touching them, even though they stand out from Blaine's body by at least a couple of feet, feels more intimate than a handshake or even a hug. Kurt is flushed and breathing a little faster, just from a simple touch.

Sounding strained, Blaine says, "See? All there."

"If you're going to be everywhere that I go, I think we should at least talk, don't you?" Kurt asks, forcing his hand away. The urge to keep touching is running rampant, and he needs to stop.

"I'm really not supposed to interact with you," Blaine says, tentacles drooping.

"That's my condition, or—or I'll tell," he blurts.

Blaine chews his lip into a pout. "Oh. Okay. Well, I guess—no one would know, really. I'm the only researcher in this borough right now."

"Have drinks with me tonight?" Kurt asks, feeling in charge of the situation and liking that a lot.

"Okay," Blaine says, staring at him from under those eyebrows that are so perfectly triangular Kurt can't say he's surprised anymore that Blaine is an alien—what human has eyebrows like that, or eyelashes that long, or a mouth that lush?

Blaine can't get drunk, as it turns out. Kurt doesn't feel comfortable getting hammered with someone who can't join him, so he sips lightly. They don't talk much about—that stuff. There's more than enough gossip and scandal at NYADA to last a lifetime of conversations.

The evening flies by. Blaine is actually sort of stupidly nice, and sweet, and really good at making Kurt feel special. They take turns at karaoke and then spend the whole walk home praising their performances.

Kurt has always been a sucker for well-executed flattery, and tonight is no exception.

He's also a little bit loose from the margaritas. When they're well away from NYADA foot traffic he leans in close enough so that their shoulders touch.

"I'm kind of jealous," he admits. "I just imagined what it would be like if I had two extra limbs for grocery hauling. Or for sale rack grabbing. Or for when I have to get coffee for meetings at work, or juggle fabric and phones at the same time. You are cheating at life."

Blaine smiles, hands in his pockets. "I can't really—I mean, at home, yeah, but not at school or in public."

"I bet you sneak," he teases.

"Sometimes."

 

*

 

Kurt's place is closer to where they typically socialize and so, after a couple of weeks of friendly outings, he makes the offer that's been on the tip of his tongue since pretty much the first time Blaine left him at his apartment building.

"Want to come up?"

Blaine nods, though he doesn't do a very good job of hiding his surprise. "Sure."

Kurt's apartment is no larger than Blaine's—and he has a roommate, who is thankfully not home this weekend—but it is a little better decorated. Blaine is instantly fascinated by all of his knick knacks and pillows and curtains and accent furniture, and flits around touching and staring at everything.

When he's settled down, Kurt says, "You don't have to hide them in here, if you don't want. I don't mind."

"Thanks," Blaine says, and shrugs out of his jacket. Beneath, his shirt has the holes that allow him to stretch out. "It's not painful to keep them in, but sometimes it gets itchy when I want to have them out and I can't."

Kurt watches, fascinated, as they wriggle free. "Water?"

"Sure, thanks."

This is about as far as Kurt usually gets with guys in the apartment before things get awkward. He's never really managed to figure out how to share his private space with someone he's interested in without coming over territorial or uncomfortable or both.

But Blaine is standing there in the middle of his tiny living room, arms folded around his slim waist, tentacles free behind him, and Kurt almost starts laughing hysterically because he can't recall ever being so comfortable, so relaxed with another man, and—Blaine isn't even human, technically.

Maybe that's what he's been waiting for. Humanity isn't enough for Kurt Hummel. Only extra-terrestrial life will do.

He realizes that he's grinning like an idiot, and that Blaine is staring at him.

"Did I do something funny?" Blaine asks.

"Um, no, I—you can sit."

Blaine sits.

"I'm sorry," Kurt continues. "I just—this is going to sound so stupid. I like you. A lot. People I seem to fail at, left right and center, but you—you I like. It's funny to me."

Blaine's tentacles flicker back and forth. "Oh. Really? Oh, that is nice of you to say. I think. I like you, too. When I saw you on the rooftop at that party—I thought it would be such a shame for such a pretty person to make themselves go splat on the pavement below."

Kurt sits on the other end of the couch. "I wasn't up there for that, I told you."

"I know. My research—well, that was the only thing that occurred to me at the time."

"You kind of saved me from a miserable night, though," he says. "That counts for something."

"You never told me why you were up there."

Kurt sighs, sitting back, arms folded in his lap. "I had my first date in months, and the minute we got to the party he ditched me for a modeling student."

"That's not very nice."

"No, it's not."

Kurt twitches when he feels one of Blaine's tentacles touch his arm—one has wandered across the back of the couch and settled its grasping head around the edge of his shoulder, massaging lightly, comfortingly.

"Oh, that feels good," he says, inching over.

"Sorry," Blaine whispers, then clears his throat and says louder, "I have full control of them but—they have no inhibitions, sometimes, and I—don't think about it. I'm usually alone when I have them out."

The first thing that comes to mind is the most NC-17 rated thing Kurt has thought in months, and he can't help the blush that steals across his face at the image before he pushes it away.

"Well, feel free to massage the crap out of me, if that's your desire," he says instead, turning and presenting his shoulders.

Blaine laughs, and Kurt relaxes as the other tentacle lands on his opposite shoulder, and they both begin to dig in. The suckers catch on his shirt but not in a dangerous way, and the curling head of each tentacle is so strong, working the knots in his shoulders and back loose one by one better than any pair of hands ever has.

He holds the noises that he wants to make in, but he can hear Blaine behind him, breathing heavily, tentacles whispering over cloth, and then...one tentacle tip sort of tickles behind Kurt's ear, and then down the side of his neck, and Kurt turns his jaw into it thoughtlessly. It feels good, warm and soft and full of muscle.

"K-Kurt?" Blaine asks.

The tentacle, though, seems to have a mind of its own, and inches across Kurt's parted mouth as Kurt turns to look at Blaine, red-faced and clutching a pillow over his lap.

As the warm flesh passes over Kurt's face, he closes his mouth and presses his lips to the edge of the very tip, and watches Blaine's entire body shudder, feels the tremor as it rolls through the tentacles from base to end.

"Oh," Blaine whimpers, and Kurt feels the other tentacle searching along his chest, his arm, and finally his waist, sliding around his back, and then there's a tug, and the one wrapped around his neck and jaw goes stiff and the other wraps around his lower back, and he's being drawn across the couch.

"Are you okay?" Kurt asks, seeing the near-panic in Blaine's eyes.

"Um. I, um. I—probably should tell you about the—before we—um."

Kurt feels dizzy. The tentacles seem like they are everywhere, rubbing his waist and back, his neck and jaw, his lips, his belly, his hip—they roll and writhe even as they firmly hold, and the suckers keep catching, pinpoints of suction against his skin through his clothes, and there are little damp spots left behind where they've pressed against him, and the wetness that lands on his skin seems to be sinking in, drying up after a moment, and—

"What—what about them?" he asks, feeling the tip of the one that's stroking his jaw slide across his lips.

It's only then that he realizes Blaine is trying very hard not to hump against the pillow he's clutching in his lap.

Oh, dear. Not just like extra arms, then.

"They kind of—do what I want, and when I really want something—" Blaine swallows. His pupils are hugely dilated. "When I get like this, they secrete a sort of—fluid...it helps...um. With arousal."

That explains the raging hard-on in Kurt's jeans, and also why he feels as if he could come if the tentacles just kept stroking him, even through his clothes.

"Oh," he says, staring at Blaine's body, so small against the other end of the couch.

And then he takes the tip of the tentacle into his mouth and suckles at it.

"Oh, oh, god—"

"Does that feel good?" he asks.

"Please don't do that unless you want—more."

"I want more," he confesses, dragging his tongue around the flesh in his mouth.

It's nothing like a cock—he takes it in deeper, bobs his jaw forward and back, easing the width of it inside. The suckers begin about halfway down the head, and he teases them with his tongue, feeling them grasp and fold around the tip of it without managing to hold on.

The other tentacle around his waist begins wriggling beneath the hem of his shirt, and when it finds bare skin and twines around his torso, Kurt feels the drag of the suckers and the wetness, and his dizziness increase.

"Oh my god, that feels amazing," he moans, letting the tentacle head in his mouth pop free with wet slurp.

Blaine is writhing against the pillow now, panting, and he gives a tug and Kurt tumbles forward into his lap.

The saliva-wet tip crawls down the front of his shirt, popping buttons, as the second one around his waist finds his fly. It's happening all at once, which is confusing, especially when Blaine is just staring at him, enthralled, still aside from the tentacles moving around and between them.

Kurt drags Blaine's hands to his face, straddles Blaine's lap and takes the pillow away in one smooth series of motions.

"I want to kiss you," he says, tipping their foreheads together.

One tentacle is working beneath his shirt, climbing his ribs, and the other is rhythmically squeezing his ass through his underwear, buried down the back of his jeans, which are hanging loose and undone around his hips.

Blaine kisses him, but it's like he's never kissed before, so Kurt puts his hands in Blaine's hair and adjusts the angle.

It's difficult to concentrate when his body is buzzing like it's a phone set to vibrate, when those muscled lengths are touching him in places that are so sensitive, when so much is happening at once. He feels so _close_.

He reaches between them to stroke the bulge in Blaine's jeans, and—the front of Blaine's pants are soaked through.

Blaine goes stiff. "I'm sorry. I'm really, really messy when I—get like this."

He groans. "Can I touch you?"

"Oh," Blaine says, surprised. "You still want to?"

Completely independent of his hands and mouth, Blaine's tentacles are making their way across Kurt's body like eager snakes, stroking his skin, his nipples, his back, his spine, his ass—and he can hardly put words together, he's that far gone. He paws Blaine's fly open, for a moment wondering—and then not, when he sees Blaine's penis is completely human, flushed and thick and jutting up from his boxers.

"Do your—do your tentacles have orgasms, separate from...?"

They spasm, almost as if they're listening. "Yes," he gasps.

"Oh, god," Kurt moans, rutting their bodies together, pressing their mouths together. "Put it back in my mouth."

"Kurt," Blaine moans, and presses back inside. "Please, please, yeah, just—suck. Suck it, harder." He curls the tip into a more oblong shape and suddenly Kurt's throat is clamping around it, and it's jacking in and out of his mouth faster. He breathes through his nose, a moan muffled by the flesh crammed into his mouth when he feels the second tentacle head press his underwear hard against the furl of his asshole. "Close—close—oh, yes, yes, I'm—"

It's the oddest sensation—when the tentacle in his mouth spasms, it leaks fluid out of every inch like sweat from pores only thicker, and so much; it drools down Kurt's chin and drips everywhere, across his teeth and over his tongue and even his nose, and Blaine wails—a high-pitched, almost inhuman sound—and fucks deep, cutting off his air supply. And then he's pulling out, shuddering, and the tentacle digging at Kurt's clothed entrance is jerking like a sawed-off limb.

"Again? Down there?" Kurt asks, breathless, and wraps his hand around the cock between Blaine's legs. "And here?"

"Oh my god, Kurt," Blaine whimpers, slumping back against the throw pillows, but the tentacle fucking against Kurt's hole through his briefs is going wild, soaking the cloth and trying to get in, but it can't. Kurt is okay with that for now.

When it happens, he feels the trickle down his thighs, feels the swell of droplets from dozens of spots slick down his hairy legs, feels Blaine buck and sob under him.

All that's left to finish off is his swollen, red-crowned cock, and Kurt shifts back on his knees, bends down and takes it into his mouth with no warning, isn't surprised when Blaine grabs his neck and thrusts up and comes almost instantly, flooding his mouth with the same stuff that had oozed from the pores of his tentacles. It's thin and tastes earthy-pungent, and he sucks it down like mother's milk, easing the twitching, softening flesh deep into his mouth.

When he sits up again, Blaine grabs him, almost roughly, tentacles slithering, tugging his clothes, trying to get at naked skin—he looks possessed, eyes wild. The couch and their clothes are literally soaked with release, but Kurt doesn't care—his cock is aching, standing up between his thighs, and he needs to come, badly.

Blaine licks into his mouth, and at the same time Kurt feels his right tentacle creep like a fat snake into a coil around his cock.

"Your pleasure is exquisite," he breathes, and the grip around Kurt's throbbing dick tightens. "Does that feel good?"

"I'm going to come," Kurt replies, letting the rippling stroke build at the base of his spine. He bends forward, buries his face in Blaine's neck when it snaps, hips twitching as the other tentacle strokes his asshole, making him twitch and buck as the coils around his cock grow slippery with his own come, spreading the moisture and then sort of—absorbing it, at the end.

Blaine's eyes are black, completely, to the edge of his eyelids lids, and it's scary for a moment—but his mouth is a laughing grin, and Kurt slumps back down, clutching him. They're still practically dressed, and the couch and their clothing are soiled beyond the usual levels.

Kurt feels like he has never had sex before—nothing has ever felt this good. He's also a little unsettled. That had gone fast, and he isn't the fast type. But it had never occurred to him to stop—he hadn't wanted to slow down, at all.

Will Blaine think that he's some kind of slut? They haven't called the time they've spent together dates but, technically speaking, they probably were.

Blaine kisses him again, more confidently. "Am I getting better?" He blushes. "My people don't do that, and—that was my first time with a human. Was it—sufficient?"

Kurt goes still. "Oh, honey. I wish you would have said something. We could have gone slower."

Blaine tilts his head. "Would that have been better?"

"I—well, I mean. Maybe. Sometimes if you—draw it out, it feels nicer, but—"

"Did you not enjoy that?" He looks worried.

"Oh, god, no, I did, so much, I—just don't—"

He has to stop and think, which is a challenge right now, because he's realizing that Blaine doesn't have the same point of view as he does. Blaine doesn't understand, on a personal level, that Kurt is wondering what the nature of their relationship is, or that the meaning of what they just did could vary depending on how they agree to view it.

"We're friends," he begins, stroking Blaine's jaw. "And friends usually don't have sex."

Blaine thinks, and then nods. "Yes, I've gathered."

"Do you have exclusive relationships that are—sexual, romantic, on your world?"

"Oh," Blaine says. "You mean, pair bonds?"

"Yes," Kurt replies.

"It's more like human marriage," Blaine says, going red to the tips of his ears—even his tentacles blush pink.

"I mean—more than friends, but not quite that," Kurt explains, embarrassed.

"I know what you mean. I—I think we are more than friends, Kurt," Blaine says, smiling and cupping Kurt's cheek in one sticky hand.

"Me too," Kurt says. "And as your more-than-friend, I think we should move this into the shower. And—I should probably take care of the couch cushions, too."

Blaine grins hopelessly at him.

 

*

 

They become boyfriends in a rather backwards way.

Dates follow that night on the couch, sometimes shy and sometimes boisterous, as they get to know each other. Blaine doesn't talk much about where he's from but he does talk about his research and what he's learned, confesses that he begged for this assignment because he loves human music and plays and is desperate to learn about them as well as people, and Kurt tells him everything that he wants to know about Kurt's life.

It's wonderful, having someone who he can be himself around, especially someone who he goes to school with, who understands his schedule and what he's going through and what he wants so desperately to achieve in life.

And he has to admit that the sex is—amazing.

Blaine tries to deflect his amazement, explains that his tentacles—once sexually excited—secrete a substance that makes sex more intense, the need for orgasm more immediate. Kurt is sure that it doesn't hurt, but is equally sure that the sex is amazing mostly because Blaine is amazing.

Kurt is just a little bit in love with him.

 

*

 

They spend their free time alone wallowing in what their bodies can do together.

Kurt has experience with sex, and Blaine has experience with sex with his own kind, so most of that time is spent talking about the differences.

Once that is sorted out, they go at each other with abandon.

Kurt runs out of patience sometimes because he simply doesn't know what to touch first—Blaine's body is glorious, but his tentacles are always seeking heat and wetness, and never stray far from Kurt's most sensitive, wanting places, and there are times when he simply makes Blaine put them away until he's had his fill of sampling Blaine's actual body.

There are other times when he lavishes the tentacles with attention, sitting on Blaine's thighs or in his lap, licking and suckling and kissing every inch of them. He loves deep-throating the tapered head, loves the way that Blaine comes everywhere through the skin of them when he tips over the edge, loves that he can make them come together or separately depending on his timing.

Blaine returns the favor, exploring every inch of his body, until he feels as if Blaine knows him better than he knows himself.

One evening Blaine has him on his hands and knees, and has been licking and fingering him open for hours—he's so stretched that he almost can't bear the lighter touches, and he's about to beg for Blaine's cock when Blaine's left tentacle grabs along his cheeks—the right one holds him open while the left one noses against his gaping, wet hole like a curious grub. Blaine's hands are free to stroke his sweaty back.

"Fuck, please," Kurt hisses, ass in the air.

"You're so small," Blaine says, breathlessly wanton. "Can you take it?"

"Oh my god, fuck me," he growls, shoving back, rutting against the writhing tentacle like a cat in heat.

"I'm serious. I don't want to hurt you."

At its thinnest point, Blaine's tentacle is the size of a very large, very erect cock. At its thickest, it's about the size of a well-muscled forearm. Kurt has been using his larger toys when they're apart to get himself used to the stretch, but they are nowhere near the same thing.

Despite that, he wants it so badly that he can taste it. He's always been obsessed with large cocks, always loved it when it burned more than it slid in easily, always felt slightly disappointed when a guy revealed himself to be of average or smaller size, and so this—this is incredible.

They've been rutting and kissing and exploring for hours and his body feels like its just one, huge, aching gap that needs to be filled. The emptiness yawns.

"Can you reach me like this?" he asks.

"Yes," Blaine says, shaking, gripping his hips as the head of his tentacle curls and bends, seeking the heat of Kurt's anus. The tip can sort of fold up like a tongue to make entrance easier and it does now, edging in harder and harder as Kurt's pelvis jolts.

"Oh my god, it's huge," Kurt breathes, hips begging back and forth with soft little pushes, as the head slides in, stretching him wide open.

"Should I stop?"

"God, no."

It feels amazing—the pressure is beyond blunt. It's unstoppable, in the best way.

And then the head unfurls to its full width and Kurt wails, burying his face in the mattress and bending his sweaty, naked body almost in half.

"K-Kurt?"

The free tentacle slides over his body, stroking him, soothing him, wrapping around his throat and neck to find his mouth so that Kurt can kiss it, can hold on to it.

"I'm fine. Don't stop."

He's shaking like a leaf. It burns. It feels incredible.

Blaine goes still for a long time, and then Kurt feels the puckers on the underside of the head inside of him begin gently playing his anus from the inside, popping and sucking, popping and sucking, and then several side by side find his prostate. The tip of the head edges back and in, and the suckers latch on—and then begin to writhe like the press of fingertips, working the gland.

He sobs into the mattress as his cock leaks fluid all over the bed, again and again, as the prehensile tip and grabbing suckers massage him.

By the time that Blaine stops this Kurt is already a fucked out mess, shoulders red and bunched, body soaked with sweat, ass spread wide and stuffed full.

"Oh my god."

"Okay?"

"Oh my _god_."

"That sounded okay."

Kurt laughs weakly, turning his cheek on the bed to look back at Blaine, naked and hard and perfect on his knees.

"Put more in?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

Inch by inch, he feeds the giant tentacle into Kurt's wet, gaping ass. Kurt can feel his body swallow the intrusion hungrily—every inch of him is full, and it's glorious. He breathes through it, then begins to whine when the tentacle just undulates instead of thrusts.

"Blaine," he moans, shoving himself back onto it. "Fuck me with it, baby."

"I—are you—can you take all of it?"

"Almost there," he replies, watching the fat appendage writhe and twist between his ass cheeks. "Just put it all in, come on." He smiles playfully. "Then shut me up with the other one."

Blaine lists forward as he lets the tentacle do what it wants, lets it find the bottom of that glorious sucking heat that it's burying itself inside of.

It hurts, but only for a moment, and when as much as possible is inside, Kurt huffs like a winded racehorse, letting his ass relax around its prize. He is as full as is humanly possible, and he has never, ever felt pleasure like it before—there is nothing more he could hope for, except maybe for Blaine to move.

And that's when Blaine's other tentacle wraps around his neck, slithers up his cheek and presses into his warm, wet, waiting mouth, absorbs the groan that he produces, and shoves to the back of his throat, just the way that Kurt likes.

"Oh, god, can feel it everywhere," Blaine moans, as both tentacles shiver and undulate inside of Kurt's holes. "Love the way you take me, love you so much."

Shaking, Kurt holds onto the bed and sets his knees, breathes through his nose and the burn, and the tentacle fat in his mouth begins fucking his lips and tongue. He's so high off of the secretion that he can't imagine censoring his reaction.

The huge column of flesh slamming his ass open has his prostate swollen to its limits; he comes almost as soon as it starts moving, his cock jerking and spitting beneath his belly.

But he stays hard.

The tentacle in his mouth pops free to let him breathe and he groans, stretching his jaw and sucking in a breath. "Blaine. Jesus, Blaine, so good. Don't—don't hold back, come on. Fuck me with it. Fuck me, hard, just—do it."

It's so big. It's like being fisted up to a muscled forearm, and he wants it, all of it.

It moves, choppy at first and then smoother when it finds the best angle, sliding out to the tapered head and then in to roughly its middle, maybe ten or twelve inches worth, not only thrusting but twisting at the same time, corkscrewing Kurt open like a fucktoy made to take inhumanly large objects.

It's fucking incredible.

Kurt wails through it, cursing and begging and demanding, as the other tentacle flops like it's enduring sympathetic arousal, smacking his bare shoulders and neck and face, leaving globby smears of ejaculate all over him.

At one point it ducks between his legs, wraps around his cock loosely, latches a suction cup right over the head and milks it until he comes again, hopelessly overworked as the wet, red tip pulses almost painfully from the too-much friction. There's a brief flare of pain as the sucker detaches with a slick noise, leaving him hanging heavy and wet.

No matter how many times he comes, though, his dick is still as hard as a rock.

When he can't take it anymore he leans on his elbows, uses one free hand to grab the flopping tentacle, and begins jerking it off.

Blaine sobs, but the tentacle fucking Kurt's ass doesn't stop. "Oh my god, your hand feels—"

Kurt goes harder, faster, and watches the head of the tentacle ooze and twist, the suckers clenching up with pleasure.

"Fucking come all over me," he growls.

The tentacle in his hand pulses and throbs and oozes come from its pores, dripping like a leaky faucet down Kurt's wrist and onto the bed.

The tentacle in his ass screws deeper. All he can hear is the messy wet slap of it spearing into him, and both himself and Blaine groaning and panting. He looks back over his shoulder to watch Blaine stroking his human cock with desperately sharp tugs, eyes glued to the tentacle fucking him.

"Yeah, come on, come on my back, come while your tentacle fucks me open," Kurt taunts.

Blaine goes ridged and then groans, come arcing from his cock to splatter all over Kurt's spine and shoulders.

Kurt loses track somewhere around there, unsure of how many times his cock has spilled, or how much tentacle he has inside of him—it feels like an arm's worth but he can't be sure anymore, really, how split open he is, because it's been that long and that good.

Blaine's spent human cock is bouncing against his upturned cheeks as the tentacle still inside twists and pounds into him.

Into the ragged, wet silence Blaine moans, "I can't—you're—going to make me come, I can't stop."

They've been fucking for _hours_. What exactly does he think Kurt expects of him?

"Don't care. It's fine, honey. I'm—you can come."

Kurt has never felt come shoot inside of him before—it's really not possible with a person (not to mention all of the sex that he's had has been protected, a thing that's not necessary with Blaine), but with Blaine's tentacle being so huge, he can feel it when it convulses and empties, and it empties from every inch of its length and so much that he does feel it, wet and sloppy, filling up his ass. He goes still, shocked by the sensation.

Blaine edges out so slowly that Kurt has time to interrupt with, "Wait. Just—really slow. I want to feel it."

So he slows down even farther. Kurt holds his breath, feels the burn in his lungs and the ache in his ribs as he forces himself to savor the retreat of inch after inch of thick flesh, until his ass is clenching greedily around nothing. He only closes up part of the way—he's so stretched that he can't tighten back up fully, and when the arrow-shaped head pops free Blaine's come gushes down his balls and thighs in rivulets. He shivers as the wetness soaks all the way to the backs of his knees, where it puddles and drips down onto the bed.

"Oh my god," he moans, shoulders convulsing, body twitching, folding halfway to the mattress.

He feels amazing, sore and wet and tapped out.

Blaine collapses onto the bed behind him. "You can't possibly be just human," he pants, sprawled out like a starfish.

One of the spent tentacles inches along Kurt's legs and thighs and ass, absorbing come and stroking skin, almost as if it wants to make sure that Kurt is okay. Its suckers kiss along his wet, pink cheeks and nuzzle at his swollen hole lovingly, making him moan and spread himself wide again.

"Blaine," he whimpers as the tip of the head traces his rim, presses just barely inside to gather moisture, stroking, stroking, stroking. "Oh, god, yes, touch me."

It feels so good to be touched gently right now, and he savors it as the tentacles crawl all over him, pressing his flesh and his nipples, his joints and his crevasses, smearing sweat and come, and then Blaine rises beside him, human fingers seeking his sweat-soaked hair, stroking it off of his flushed forehead and cheeks.

He remembers the words, and replies sleepily, "I love you, too."

Blaine kisses him. "I'm a very lucky researcher."

"Hands-on is always the best way, I hear."

"Does it count if only two of the four are hands?"

Kurt laughs into the sweat-thick air, and then kisses Blaine quiet again.


End file.
